


I Will Tell Your Story

by Vendelin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Arranged Marriage, Author Derek, Barista Stiles, Blind Stiles, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Musician Derek, Nurse Derek, Truth Serum, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendelin/pseuds/Vendelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of my Tumblr fics. Each chapter is a separate, complete fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All my own stunts

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic (more of a collection, really?) comes from Laleh's song: Some die young. It's great, you should check it out! :)
> 
> The fics vary a lot when it comes to wordcount and plot. The tags  
> I will add more tags as I add more fics, which means that the tags do not count for every fic. The rating might change as well, depending on future fics. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as well: [ljummen](http://ljummen.tumblr.com)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes blind temporarily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rating: Gen?**

* * *

”What do you mean _blind_?” Stiles asks and tears the glasses off his face, like that would change anything.

Derek winces when he sees the red, irritated skin around his eyes where the wolfsbane, meant for Derek, hit. “It’s just temporary,” he explains, wishing that Stiles would put the glasses back on. “You’ll be back to normal by this time tomorrow.”

“Great. Good thing my dad’s gone for the weekend.” Stiles reaches up as if to touch the skin, but Derek slaps his hands away.

“Don’t touch it. You’ll make it worse.”

“But it’s _itchy._ And worse than blind, really?” Stiles scoffs.

Derek sort of wishes that the wolfsbane would’ve taken Stiles’ ability to speak instead. “You could have lost your sight permanently.”

“Fine, be that guy. The rational guy.” Stiles waves airily and for a moment, Derek thinks that he’s handling this way better than Derek would have, but then Stiles freezes in his movements. “You know, I can’t even get to my desk without fumbling in air like an idiot. I’ll probably break all my toes from walking into stuff.”

“I’ll help you,” Derek sighs and grabs Stiles by the arm. He tries to ignore the way Stiles flinches, unprepared for the touch. The desk is only a few steps from the bed where Stiles is seated, and it isn’t hard for Derek to push him down in the chair.

“You’re like my guide dog.” Stiles grins madly, slightly left to where Derek is standing. It’s surprisingly heartbreaking and Derek can’t find it in him to get irritated, even though he should have known that Stiles would make a _dog joke_.

“Funny,” he mutters instead and sits down at the edge of Stiles’ bed. “So what did you plan on doing at your desk?”

“Just research.” Stiles does that thing again, where he sort of freezes in himself, clearly realising the impossibility in that statement. “Oh,” he says under his breath, but it isn’t hard for Derek to hear the disappointment in his voice. Stiles looks worried and afraid. “I guess you’ll just have to put me back on my bed, then.”

Derek does. Without asking. Without complaining.

He even leaves when Stiles tells him to.

A few hours later he’s back, cold with realisation of how vulnerable Stiles is without his ability to see. Stiles is always vulnerable, because he’s human, but he’s even more so now. If anything has happened to him while Derek was gone, he won’t be able to forgive himself.

The house is quiet, but Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat before he climbs through the window. He’s asleep, face pressed against the pillow, but both the pillow case and Stiles’ cheeks are wet. Derek doesn’t like the way his heart suddenly aches.

“Stiles,” he says quietly and reaches out when Stiles jerks away, blinking wildly as if to clear his vision. Derek can hear the rising panic in his heartbeat. “Stiles, it’s just me. Calm down.”

He grabs Stiles by his arms, then his shoulders, and then his fingers curl around Stiles’ face. “It’s just me,” he repeats and it’s oddly satisfying, when Stiles’ heart rate slows dramatically.

“Derek?” he asks weakly, and his fingers curl around Derek’s, keeping his hands in place. “I forgot. I thought I’d sleep it off, and then I forgot.”

“Calm down,” Derek says, doing his best to sound stern, when Stiles’ heart picks up again.

There’s a moment of silence, before Stiles reaches out and slides his hand up Derek’s arm, his neck, and then drags his fingertips along Derek’s jaw.

Derek doesn’t know why he doesn’t pull away, or tells Stiles to stop. Instead he just sits there and lets his eyes fall shut, as Stiles fingertips explore the features of his face. They slide over the bridge of his nose, along the line of his cheekbones, follow the shape of his eyebrows, and then the contours of his mouth.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Stiles breathes.

And then he does.


	2. Everyone knows, but you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is sure that he's sick. So does his dad and the people at the hospita. Scott and Derek, however? Not so convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not a big fan of Mpreg, so you can say that I dodged this one a bit. And yeah, I totally left off where I did intentionally.
> 
>  
> 
> **Rating: Teen?**

* * *

Stiles barely even remembers that night. He was so drunk and Derek had taken something with wolfsbane, so maybe that counts as being drunk, too. Stiles gets flirty when he’s drunk, okay? He can’t really help it. He wasn’t expecting Derek to _respond in such a positive manner._

He definitely didn’t expect them to have sex on Scott’s mom’s bed and he didn’t expect it to be _that_ awkward He hasn’t been able to look Mrs McCall in the eye ever since. And she doesn't even know!

He hasn’t been able to look Derek in the eye, or any other body part for that matter, either. It’s been three weeks and Stiles has refused going to any pack meetings with Scott, and he’s locked his window to make sure that no one sneaks in. Every time he’s seen Derek in the store (when did he start grocery shopping?) or at the gas station, he’s left as quickly and legally as possible.

Stiles tries to tell himself that it isn’t because Derek sobered up remarkably after they were finished, and left in a hurry with the words: _we don’t talk about this. It never happened._

 

* * *

 

The thing is, though, Stiles feels _weird._ There’s something off with his body, and he can’t pinpoint what it is. He’s been feeling sick for two weeks straight and has lost weight – something he didn’t even think was possible for him before this. His dad is sure that Stiles has just caught something, but last time Stiles was sick, his body didn’t feel like it wasn’t his own. The people at the hospital, though, side with his dad. He needs rest and a lot of water, apparently.

Stiles is pretty sure he needs a new immune system.

“Dude, you smell weird,” Scott greets, when he comes to visit Stiles for the first time in three weeks. It’s embarrassing that it took them this long to realise that Scott won’t get sick as well.

“It’s probably all the puking.” Stiles sighs and spins around slowly in his desk chair.

Scott’s eyes go wide.

“Dude,” he exhales.

“What?” Stiles tries rolling his eyes, but just sitting up in _actual_ clothes is draining the last of his energy right now.

“Where did the rest of you go?”

“ _What_ rest of me, Scott?” he snaps, because it’s not like he _wants_ to be this skinny.

“I don’t know. I guess the parts of you that were made of junk food and Dr Pepper.” Scott frowns and then he gingerly sits down at the foot of Stiles’ bed. “You don’t smell sick.”

“Obviously I _am_ , though. Maybe you should look up your super mega awesome werewolf senses, because I think they’re getting numb.” He instantly gets a bad conscience for being mean, but Scott just shrugs it off. He looks concerned more than anything.

“So,” he says slowly and by the tone of his voice, Stiles just has time to start freaking out, before Scott puts it out there. “What exactly _did_ happen on my birthday party?”

“Lots of drinking,” Stiles mumbles evasively and spins around again, hoping that facing his computer will take his mind off of things. The motion makes him feel sick again though, and he leans back against the chair, closing his eyes, as he tries to breathe through it.

“I mean, between you and Derek.”

“Nothing happened,” Stiles lies.

“You know that I can hear when you lie, right?”

“Stop listening, then,” Stiles snaps and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to hear that Scott has that hurt look on his face. He only gets it when Stiles is unnecessarily mean to him.

“I’m worried.”

“Don’t be.”

“Derek is weird, too.”

“What, did he get sick, too?” Stiles snaps his eyes open and spins his chair. He regrets it immediately as another wave of nausea washes over him. He only _just_ manages to keep himself from needing to rush to the bathroom.

“No, of course not.” Scott shakes his head slowly, frowning. “He’s acting weird. Doesn’t ask about where you are, doesn’t ask how you’re doing, doesn’t ask what kind of sick you are.”

“That’s because he’s an asshole,” Stiles explains pedagogically. “That’s how Derek works. He doesn’t care about anyone, as long as he doesn’t have any use of them.”

“He always asked before, though,” Scott points out and his frown deepens.

“Yeah.” Stiles nods and thinks bitterly that there’s probably a reason for that. Because if sex was something Derek might have _ever_ wanted from Stiles, at least he’s got it now. And considering how awkward it was, he’s probably not coming back for any more of it either.

“So, you guys had sex, right?” Scott asks after ten minutes of solid silence.

Stiles doesn’t even bother to re-open his eyes and glare. He’s way too tired for that. “Yeah,” he confirms.

“Asshole,” Scott mutters and suddenly gets up to leave.

It takes Stiles a long, hurt moment before he realises that Scott was talking about Derek, not about him. At least he has an awesome best friend.

* * *

 

When he wakes up again, feeling weak and cold, despite his three covers and the fact that it’s _summer_ , he realises that something’s off. Except for the fact that his body has caught something that’s making him feel like crap.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, and his cellphone tells him that it’s only 3:47 AM, when he reaches out to touch the screen lazily.

It’s not until then that he realises that someone’s sitting in his desk chair. It takes him another moment of heart seizing panic, before he realises that it’s Derek. Then everything inside him just seems to drop to the soles of his feet.

“Leave me alone.” He tries to make it sound angry and threatening, but it just comes out as a scratchy plea. He turns his back on Derek instead, curling around one of his pillows and drags the covers closer around him. Like that’s ever going to protect him from a werewolf.

“Scott told me you’re ill.” Derek’s voice sound a little scratchy, too, like he’s been quiet for too long.

“Like you didn’t already know.”

“He says it’s my fault.”

“Unless there are werewolf STDs, I think you’re off the hook.” Because the condom god damn broke. Stiles is lucky like that.

Derek is silent for so long that Stiles has to turn over on his back, disturbed. “ _Are_ there werewolf STDs?!”

“Of course not. I already told you: we can’t carry diseases.”

Stiles lets out a breath. He’s sure Derek can hear the relief that comes with it. “Well, then you’re off the hook. As I said.”

“You smell strange,” Derek says suddenly, like Stiles hasn’t just spoken.

Stiles rolls his eyes towards the wall. “As I said to Scott, it’s probably all the puking. Even _I_ can smell it on myself.”

“Maybe,” Derek hums. Stiles is pretty confident he’s talking to himself. “But I don’t think so.”

“Dude, leave me alone. I’m trying to get better here. How did you even get in? I locked my window.”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah, but your dad didn’t.”

It’s way more disturbing than usual, when Derek suddenly gets up and walks closer to him. Stiles is certain that he can hear Derek smell the air, like he’s some kind of dog now. He stops, looming over Stiles, and then he sniffs the air again, so clearly that even Stiles can hear it this time.

“Dude, _what—”_ he begins, but Derek interrupts him by hastily retreating and disappearing through the door, probably heading for the open window in Stiles’ dad’s bedroom.

Stiles glances towards the watch again. It’s 3:59 AM. And then he drifts into an uneasy sleep.


	3. I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is a famous musician who needs to learn how to use his words and Stiles just broke up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [(Link to the song in the prompt)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gVxRvNfFLg)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own the couple of sentences from the lyrics of Wonderwall, for obvious reasons
> 
>  
> 
> **Rating: Teen/lame Mature? For mentions of sex etc. I'm so bad at rating stuff**

* * *

 

Derek watches Stiles leave, unable to say something to make him turn around. It doesn’t matter than he knows that one word would be enough.

He just can’t.

Stiles gets smaller and smaller the further he walks away, and then he turns around the corner of the hotel corridor. Abruptly gone. There’s suddenly a heavy lump in Derek’s throat, too big to swallow down, as he realises that this is likely their last meeting.

A part of him feels like it’s unfair. His music is his life and the only time his words don’t come out all wrong. Another part, perhaps bigger than the first, realises that so is Stiles. It was years ago when Derek first noticed him the Beacon Hills crowd at one of his first tours. He was sitting at the tables closest to stage, without company, and he never moved from his chair even though Derek noticed him finishing his drink during the second song.

Derek never said anything to him that night. What was he supposed to say? _‘Thanks for your support. I really appreciate that you have nothing better to do than stare at me while I sing.’_

 

He continued his tour the next day and was certain that he’d never see Stiles again. He didn’t even have a name at the time.

The following year, Derek did another tour and made sure to pass through Beacon Hills again, somehow feeling like he owed Stiles for continuing to chase his dream. There were more people there that night, and the table closest to stage was occupied by a small group of girls.

It took him almost half the show to notice Stiles sitting by the bar, turned in a weird angle on his barstool. Derek’s gaze met Stiles’ so many times that night that he forgot the words during one song, so frustrated with his own inability to focus.

He stayed to have a drink that night and Stiles just happened to have the seat next to him at the bar. It took them almost an hour before Stiles finally broke the silence and complimented him on the show.

Derek still remembers his wide smile. Mostly because there was so much insecurity in his eyes, like he was worried that Derek would blow him off.

A few months later, Derek had a show in another part of California and he almost forgot his lyrics again when he noticed Stiles in the crowd. _‘I can’t help that I identify a lot with your music. Also, I just happened to be in town. My best friend goes to college here.’_

Stiles accompanied Derek to his hotel room that night. Supposedly for _‘-good air conditioning because dear God help me, I’m melting and Scott’s dorm room doesn’t have AC.’_ Perhaps he lied and wasn’t at all in desperate need of air conditioning before, but a few hours later, they were both under the cool sprays of Derek’s shower, washing away sweat and come from their bodies. Stiles never stopped smiling, but the insecurity in his eyes was long gone.

Derek remembers the softness of Stiles’ skin under his lips, and the quiet sounds he made, the words he whispered under his breath like he thought Derek couldn’t hear him. _‘God, yes. Come on, fuck me, Derek!’_

They spoke on the phone almost every day after that. Even though Stiles was mostly the one talking, and Derek the one listening. He’s always done listening so much better than talking. He remembers smiling when Stiles told him about his newest escapades, tearing up when Stiles told him about his mother. He remembers feeling his heart swelling for the first time when he answered his phone and Stiles’ voice was on the other end.

He has so many voicemails saved that he’ll never delete. When people ask, he just tells them that he doesn’t know how. There are thirty-seven of them now.

His head thumps back against the closed door to his hotel room when he realises that there won’t be another.

And maybe Derek is crying for the first time in years. Right now.

He remembers the first time Stiles said that he can’t do this anymore. That he can’t be in love with someone who spends two thirds of the year away from him; in other cities, in other _countries_. Back then there wasn’t much of a threat behind Stiles’ words. It was just frustration spoken whenever Derek had to leave again. Easily cured by Derek’s promises of always coming back, of making another album soon so that he would be around more. Longer.

Things grew worse. Stiles had less time to travel across the country to watch a show and spend a stolen night here and there with Derek. _‘I’m a grad student now, Derek. I don’t have time to mould my life to fit yours anymore. I’ve done it for four years. When’s it gonna be your turn?’_

Derek understood. Or, he thought he did. He made sure to play shows closer to where Stiles was, staying longer so that they would have more time together when they had the chance. He had thought it was enough.

And maybe it had been, if Derek had been able to use his words.

 _‘How is that I still don’t know what you feel for me, Derek?’_ Stiles had said one morning just when Derek had woken up. It was clear that he had been awake for hours; sitting up, leaning against the headboard.  

 _‘You know how I feel about you,’_ Derek had replied and kissed that spot just above Stiles’ hip.

That time it had been enough.

Then came the rumours about Derek and Kate Argent. None of them true, but they still pushed a wedge between him and Stiles, forcing them apart.

 _‘It’s been almost five years, Derek. I don’t think I can do this anymore. How’s it possible that I’m still not sure if this is real or just about sex for you?’_ Stiles had said fifteen minutes ago, not even entering Derek’s hotel room.

 _‘Of course it’s not just sex,’_ Derek had said, thinking it would be enough. Thinking he could kiss Stiles’ brain ghosts away.

_‘Don’t kiss me. I’m leaving. I just came to say goodbye.’_

And yeah, maybe Derek is crying, right now. For the first time in years.

It’s exactly what his mother used to say: _‘Be careful, Derek. Don’t live so much in the past and the future. You need to appreciate all the good things that exist in your life_ now _, before they’re gone.’_

He should have done his homework better.

The hotel room feels foreign to him when he re-enters it. And maybe he’s still crying when he falls asleep that night.

Maybe.

The following evening he has a small show at a local club. He likes varying the big arenas with smaller places. He likes seeing their faces, their smiles, the finished drinks on their tables. He likes them because they’re the only ones Stiles ever comes to see.

It’s also the only ones where he would ever be able to make Stiles out from the rest of the crowd.

And maybe it’s his own strange kind of luck that Stiles _always_ goes to his smaller shows. And that Derek is able to spot him in the crowd whenever he does. Because there he is, as far away from the stage as possible, hidden enough so that Derek hasn’t been able to spot him until now, when there are only two songs left.

He forgets the lyrics again, when he realises that hearts, or perhaps it’s just his, breaks so much more painfully the second time.

Yes, he’s missed the signs before. Ignored them, even. He’s thought that things would solve themselves. That Stiles would adapt to the way their relationship has to work, eventually. He’s not going to do the same mistake again.

“So,” he says when he’s reached the last song for the night. “I thought I’d change things around a bit, do a cover.”

Derek doesn’t do covers, but he’s useless with words. He clears his throat awkwardly, hoping he will be able to say it right this time.

“I’ve been told that I’m bad with words all my life.” He can see Stiles’ head perking up, gaze immediately finding Derek’s. “Quite strange, perhaps, for someone who writes his own lyrics.”

He’s certain that Stiles snorts where he’s sitting.

“I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to express myself properly, but maybe this song could make up for it, right now.”

His fingers are trembling as he starts playing. He locks eyes with Stiles again when he’s half-way through the song.

_“There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how. Because maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me. And after all, you’re my wonderwall.”_

Three weeks later, Derek announces that he’s heading back to the studio to make another album.

And maybe he’s sitting in Stiles’ dorm room, using his computer to send the message.


	4. Lost in Seattle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is in a band and gets lost in Seattle. Stiles works in a coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t really know anything about Seattle, so I just made a bunch of stuff up. I hope that you can overlook any inaccuracies.  
> And I can't say that the fic turned out to be exactly what I think the person behind the prompt wanted.
> 
>  
> 
> **Rating: gen-teen?**

* * *

It took Derek approximately five seconds from the moment he stepped outside the train station to become lost. He’s never been in Seattle before and he doesn’t know anything about the city either. He’s here to meet up with a producer in a few days, and the rest of his band members tomorrow. Since he took the train from his grandmother, however, he arrived a day early. He should have known himself well enough by now, to know that it was a bad idea. His sense of orientation has always been close to nonexistent.

It’s too late now, though. He’s already here, completely lost, and of course heavy raindrops start falling on his head five minutes later.

He sighs, decides to find a bus stop to or catch a cab. It shouldn’t be that hard.

It _is_ hard.

His band members would have told him that no cabs stop to pick him up because he looks too much like a serial killer. Derek tries to tell himself that it’s because they’re already driving someone else.

It’s raining heavily when he finally finds a bus stop, but there’s a homeless person sleeping on the bench, so he keeps on walking. He glances toward his guitar case, but it’s supposed to be waterproof so his guitar should be safe.

It’s almost midnight when he finds a small coffee shop and steps inside. It’s warm in there and smells like coffee and baked goods. He’s just relaxing for a moment, eyes closed and with clothes sticking to his body from the rain when someone clears their throat.

When he looks up, he’s met by the very awkward face of the barista. He pulls his fingers through his hair, yanking a little at it with his fingers, and looks incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry, but we’re just closing.”

Derek groans, head thumping back against the door, making the glass frames there rattle. “Sorry, I didn’t look at the sign.” He turns to leave, but the barista makes a unintelligible sound and then clears his throat again.

“You look like someone flushed you down the toilet,” he says and the tone of his voice is way too cheery for those words.

 

Derek shrugs. “I got lost and then the sky decided to piss on me.”

The barista snorts, but when Derek turns to glare at him, he suddenly looks very innocent. “You’re not from here?”

“No, I’m from California.”

“Sweet.” The barista whistles low, like he’s impressed, but Derek can’t quite make out if he’s mocking or not.  “Can’t find your hotel?”

Derek shakes his head, then shrugs as he realises what time it is, heart sinking in his chest. “It doesn’t really matter, because they’re not allowing people to check in at this hour.”

The barista looks like he’s hesitating. “Do you have a record?”

“A couple of EPs. We’re actually meeting up with a producer—” Derek is confused for a moment. How did the guy know? But then realises that he has a guitar in his hand.

“No, I mean _criminal_ record.”

Now he feels stupid. “No.”

The barista gives him a sceptical once-over. “You sure?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“Cross your heart?” The barista still doesn’t look convinced.

“Hope to die,” Derek sighs.

“I have a couch,” the barista says after a moment of silence. “You could crash on it if you promise not to kill me. I also have a shower.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes,” is the reply.

“Which is?” Derek presses on.

“Oh right. Stiles.”

“You sure you’re not really a cartoon figure?”

Stiles makes a face. “Shut up. Sit down. I’ll get you a coffee while I clean up.”

The coffee is probably the best thing Derek has ever had in years. It’s spicy and just bordering on too hot, but it gets his fingers warm as he curls them around the cup. Stiles is cleaning up in the meantime and he really looks like a character from a cartoon. He’s all long limbs, pale skin and hair that looks like he’s just rolled out of bed. He keeps talking to Derek, even though Derek barely replies, way too occupied with the coffee to let the cup leave his lips for very long. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind.

Derek is less tired and a lot warmer when they finally leave the coffee shop. It has stopped raining too, but the air is still heavy and the sky is dark.

“It’s not far,” Stiles says and turns a corner. “I can actually see my job from my bedroom window, which is great, because the days when we have lines so long that people are standing on the sidewalk I just decide that it’s a good idea to oversleep.”

“That’s horrible.” It’s also something Derek suspects a lot of people dream of doing, but never actually do in similar situations.

“I know. I’m a horrible person. Or so I’ve been told.”

Stiles holds a heavy door open for him, to what seems like a building from the beginning of last century. Their steps echo against the walls as Derek follows him up the winding staircase.

“You live here?” Derek asks, wondering how much money one makes as a barista in Seattle.

“Yeah.” Stiles shrugs. “I was lucky. My friends family is pretty loaded and bought this house to rebuild it into an apartment complex. Most apartments are quite large, but the house is built kind of weird, so there was a smaller place left and when I moved here to go to college, Lydia, my friend, made sure that I got it. I’m pretty sure that I don’t even pay a fifth of what the place is actually worth, but I don’t care.”

Stiles’ apartment is basically two rooms and a lot of large windows. There’s a small hallway where Derek gets rid of his jacket, feeling guilty that it’s probably going to get all the other clothes wet as well, despite the fact that Stiles says that it’s fine. Then he’s led into a combined living room and kitchen, with the counter and stove at one end, with a dining area consisting of three barstools at the counters that separate the kitchen area to the living room area.

The latter part of the room is mostly built-in bookcases, a TV, a coffee table overflowing with open books and notes, and a couch. It looks comfortable enough to make Derek’s entire body ache a little from being so tired.

At the opposite end of the room, there’s another door.

“That’s my bedroom in there. Nothing to see, really.” Stiles shrugs and he looks at Derek a little worriedly, like he’s expecting to be judged.

“It’s nice,” Derek tells him. It is.

“Yeah, I’m lucky. Most of my friends live in dorms, but I can’t take all the noise and the people running in and out. I can’t focus enough on my work in an environment like that.”

“Understandable.”

“So, what is it?” Stiles asks suddenly, and there’s a little smile on his lips.

“What?”

“Your name.”

Derek feels his face heat slightly, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t show. “Derek. Sorry. I forgot.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s fine. A common name like that must be easy to forget.”

And then he grins.

Derek would have glared at him if it wasn’t for the fact that Stiles is taking pity on him, even though they just met, and lets him crash on his couch for a night.

“Right. Shower. It’s that door in the hallway we walked past. There’s a spare towel in there that you can use.”

The water is a little too hot, but Derek’s body is still shivering from cold, so he doesn’t care that his skin turns red and that there’s a fog on the mirror when he steps out of the cubicle. He’s drying himself off when he realises that he has forgotten a fresh set of clothes. There is no way that he puts on the wet ones again.

Instead he kind of sneaks out, hoping that Stiles will be in his bedroom and not notice that Derek is walking around in nothing but a towel, like a complete creep. So of course Stiles is sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, drinking something that smells heavily like hot chocolate from a huge, blue mug. He chokes when Derek enters the room, and he feels even more stupid now.

“I forgot my clothes.”

Stiles keeps coughing, but he makes a dismissive motion with his hand, like it’s all fine. He takes a deep breath before he says, voice half-choked: “Please, forget them more often.”

Derek is really grateful that the hot water turned his whole body red.

Stiles scrunches up his face like he’s disappointed in himself. “Sorry, my brain-to-mouth filter is basically nonexistent. Especially when tired.”

It looks like he’s trying very hard to not look anywhere else but at Derek’s face.

“You want some?” Stiles asks and wiggles his mug in Derek’s direction as soon as Derek has changed into a dry set of clothes.

He thinks about saying no and just lose his consciousness on Stiles’ couch, but he’s not really comfortable with sleeping in front of someone else. “Yeah, sure.”

Stiles gestures for him to sit down at the counter and presents him with hot chocolate and marshmallows a moment later. Derek doesn’t regret his decision to stay awake when Stiles brings out the chocolate sauce.

“You said something about EPs and meeting a producer..?”

Derek looks up and meets the expectant look in Stiles’ eyes. It takes him a moment to answer, because he’s way too caught up with how ridiculous those eyelashes are.  

“Uh, yes.” He drums his fingers against his mug and inspects the mountain of marshmallows for a moment. “We’re going to meet a producer in a couple of days.”

“You’re making a record?”

“Hopefully. It looks like it now, but I’m not going to believe it until it’s in my hand.”

“That’s great, all your positive thinking will get you somewhere in life.”

Derek looks up to glare, but he’s met by the biggest shit-eating grin and his irritation instantly falters.

“What kind of music is it that you…uh, _do_.”

“Ever heard of Pussy Riot?” He’s tired of explaining their music, because no one understands. He was once asked if it was similar to Avril Lavigne. That’s when he quit trying.

Stiles nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, from the news and the internet and stuff.”

“Heard their music?”

Derek can’t help but smile when Stiles scrunches up his face. “Not really my thing.”

“Then I wouldn’t recommend you to buy our music.”

“No, no, totally will. Totally going to make you sign my couch with a fabric marker after you’ve slept on it so I can sell it on ebay and get rich when you guys make it.”

Derek can’t hold back another smile. “I doubt you want me to. My signature still needs some work.”

“Your face probably makes up for it.”

Now it’s Derek’s time to choke.

“Why Seattle, though?” Stiles prompts.

“There’s a producer here that we admire and an opportunity opened for us.” Derek shrugs.

“That’s awesome then. You should let me know when you release something.” Stiles looks at him intently, like he’s trying to read Derek’s mind. It doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable as it should.

“What kind of music do you like?” Derek asks when silence settles between them.

“Oh you know, soundtracks to superhero movies and such.” Stiles shrugs. “I don’t really listen to certain bands. It’s the songs that matter to me, so I basically have playlists with one song from a billion different bands and they don’t really fit together at all. I just like what’s good.”

“For some reason that doesn’t surprise me,” Derek says.

“I get the feeling that you’re one of those guys who, even if something _did_ surprise you, you’d just lie.”

Derek laughs. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, but I’m working on it.”

It’s almost 4AM when Derek finally lays down on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and a pillow borrowed from Stiles under his head. The case smells faintly like hair products and coffee. For some reason it’s difficult to fall asleep, even though he should have collapsed hours ago. Instead he’s lying there, listening to the faint sound of Stiles’ breathing from the next room.

It takes another hour before he manages to finally fall asleep.

—-

He wakes to the sound of mugs clinking against each other and the gurgling of a coffee maker. He finds Stiles standing shirtless on the other side of the room, pouring milk and cereal into two bowls. His hair is more messy than it was yesterday; sticking up more on one side, and there are lines from the sheets across his stomach.

Derek has no idea why there’s a smile spreading over his lips.

Stiles chooses that very moment to look up and his eyes crinkle at the corners when he returns Derek’s smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Derek rasps, voice rough with sleep.

“Breakfast?”

He sits up and tries to stretch the sleep from his body. “Yes, please.”

It turns out that Stiles is as much of an eager talker no matter what time of day it is, and Derek mostly listens and smiles as he eats his cereal and drinks his coffee.

“When are you meeting up with your friends?” Stiles asks as he’s putting the dirty bowls and mugs in the sink.

Derek glances briefly at the clock on the wall. “In three hours.”

“At the train station?”

Derek nods. He sighs internally, because he doesn’t have a clue how to make his way back there.

“I’ll take you.”

“Thanks.”

“You have to do something first though,” Stiles says and throws a fabric marker at his chest.

“I thought you were kidding.”

“I never pass up on an opportunity to get rich.”

Derek is almost a hundred percent sure that Stiles isn’t serious with that statement. He clearly is serious about wanting Derek to sign the couch, though, so he jots down his lousy excuse for a signature close to the bottom where it won’t be as visible. He wishes that he had protested more when he sees it on the fabric. He just ruined a couch.

Stiles leans down and squints. Then he turns around, grabs Derek’s chin and looks from the signature to Derek’s face over and over for a moment. “I’m not actually sure your face makes up for it.”

“I told you that it needed some work.”

“That autograph doesn’t need _some work_ , it needs therapy!” Stiles exclaims, but when Derek dares glancing at him he’s grinning.

“Well, you asked for it and there it is.”

“It actually looks more like I stain that I wasn’t able to get out.”

Derek looks down at the signature. It really does. “Sorry.”

Stiles smiles then, not grins, _smiles_ and straightens so that they’re standing toe to toe. They’re almost the same height, but Stiles as a much slimmer frame. His eyelashes are even more ridiculous up close like this. Derek knows what’s going to happen before it actually does. He notices Stiles’ gaze flicker down to his mouth and then there’s a peak of tongue darting out to wet his lips. The muscles in Derek’s stomach clenches at the sight.

And then Stiles kisses him; lightly, slowly, his lips moving over Derek’s like they have all the time in the world. Like he isn’t leaving in a couple of hours.

“That almost makes up for the way you ruined my couch,” Stiles says roughly when they break apart.

“You asked for it!” Derek protests, but most of it is muffled when Stiles kisses him again.

“You should call me whenever you’re in Seattle again,” he mumbles as moment later, lips brushing against Derek’s. “I have more furniture for you to ruin.”

And Derek does. Every evening for their entire stay that time and then at least twice a month the rest of the year, until he’s able to find his way perfectly in Seattle. Which is a good thing, since he’s moving there now into the apartment where almost every piece of furniture has his ugly signature somewhere on them. Unlike his sense of orientation, it hasn’t gotten better with time.

Oh, and yeah, Stiles really did buy their first record.


	5. The Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sterek AU where Stiles meets his favorite writer, who happens to invite him out for coffee and cookies. Maybe Derek is interested in how far that tattoo, peaking out Stiles sleeve, travels up his arm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet written for [foreverblue-navy's](http://foreverblue-navy.tumblr.com) beautiful graphic. The summary is from her as well.

 

 

Please _do not_ repost, [here's the link to the original post](http://foreverblue-navy.tumblr.com/post/62253923680/sterek-au-where-stiles-meets-his-favorite-writer), so that you can reblog instead!

 

* * *

Stiles is more nervous than he’d like to admit to himself. He’s the last one in line at the book signing and he regrets, more than a little bit, that he didn’t look up what Derek Hale looks like _before_ he came here. It’s not some old dude in an ill-fitting dress shirt and a tie in a colour that doesn’t match. Sure, Derek Hale wears glasses, but that’s pretty much where any similarity with the guy in Stiles head ends, and where the real Derek Hale begins.

It should be illegal for an awesome writer to have biceps like that. To let said biceps show in a _t-shirt like that_. Stiles is pretty sure that he can see the outline of kind of awesome looking pecks, too.

It takes him a moment to realise that he’s next, and he tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, out of habit, forever cursing his stupid decision to get a tattoo somewhere he can’t hide it if he wants to. Job interviews are a pain.

"Uh, hi. Derek. Mr Hale," he rasps, voice sounding like he hasn’t said a word during the last decade, or so.

Derek Hale smiles at him. Wide. Stiles loses track of his thoughts for a moment. He pushes the book across the table and clears his throat awkwardly.

"Is it a gift?" Derek asks him. Hell, he can be just _Derek_ in Stiles’ thoughts, no one will know. Stiles briefly notes that his eyes linger at the ink of his tattoo peeking out at his sleeve, before they snap back to Stiles face. Their fingers brush when Derek pulls the book towards him and flips the cover open to sign.

"No, it’s— it’s for me."

Derek smiles again, even wider this time. He looks pleased. “What’s your name?”

"Stiles." That’s when he remembers everything he was going to say. It all ends up coming out in a rush. "I just wanted to say that I really like your writing style and the historical elements, because I’m a history major and I really admire that you have done your research."

"Thank you," Derek says, still smiling.

"Uh, yeah." Stiles mind is painfully blank once more. "I’m a big fan."

"Did you skip class for this?"

"Nah." He shrugs. "I’m working on my thesis. It’s actually about some of the subjects you mentioned in your last book."

Derek’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about your thesis over a coffee?”

Stiles blinks, wonders if his ears are playing tricks on him, but Derek looks like he’s waiting for an answer. “Yeah, yeah, actually that’d be awesome.” Stiles can’t help but smile, too.

"Perfect."

It takes about twenty minutes for Derek to grab his things and thank the bookstore people for hosting his signing. Stiles waits awkwardly at the door and wonders if this happens to people often - getting asked to grab a coffee by your favourite writer. Not that he’s complaining.

"Where do you usually get good coffee around here?" Derek asks, as he leads Stiles out the door with a hand at the small of his back. It feels like it’s burning a whole through his clothes, leaving his skin tender.

"There’s a good place just around the corner."

He offers to buy the coffee, but Derek won’t let him, says that he wants to give Stiles a proper thanks for buying his books. It’s the least he can do.

Stiles has watched enough porn to think of a number of other things that usually happens when people talk about expressing their gratitude.

He tells Derek about his thesis and it surprises him a little that Derek seems to know _so much_. At least until Derek explains that he’s also teaching history at NYU.

When Stiles realises that he has to get going, because they have been talking for five hours and he’s promised to meet up with Scott, Derek grasps his wrist, fingers grazing his tattoo. “I’d like to meet you again.”

For the first time today, he isn’t smiling, and his gaze makes Stiles feel lightheaded. “Yeah,” he says hurriedly, when he feels like he’s been quiet for too long. “Definitely. For how long are you planning on staying?”

Derek shrugs. “I haven’t decided. I’m starting a new book.”

Stiles doesn’t know what that means - for two days? A week? Derek seems to realise this, too.

"I’m staying for as long as I feel inspired."

Stiles is about three hundred percent sure that there’s more behind those words.

"And you’re feeling inspired right now?"

Derek just gives him this _look_.

"You know what, just let me cancel my plans, and I could show you around a bit." _Show you my bed_ , is what he means.

Which is exactly what ends up doing.

Eight months later, Derek still hasn’t left and he’s finished his book.


	6. The Wolf Coated Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viking!AU with an arranged marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are about zero legit facts in this fic. I've made a bunch of stuff up, tbh. Sorry!  
> It was originally posted on my tumblr in two parts, but I've decided to post them here as one complete fic instead.

Stiles knows that he’s old enough to marry. In fact, it’s kind of weird that he isn’t already, considering he’s the chief’s son. It seems to be his time now, though, because his dad sits him down in front of the fire, and he’s wearing his _serious_ face.

Stiles’ stomach starts to gnaw.

"Son, I know that this is too much to ask," his dad begins, and if Stiles didn’t already know what this was about, he’d know now. "There has been a proposal, from the Hale village. They would like for you to marry their son."

Stiles blinks slowly. The Hales are known for being almost feral in fights. Some say that they’re not even entirely human. Stiles knows that this would be a valuable ally for his father to have. They have lost many men lately.

"I will never force you-" His dad sounds distressed, worried. Perhaps a little about their village’s future, too.

"I’ll do it," Stiles interrupts quickly. "Of course I’ll do it. It’s an honour." He swallows thickly.

His dad looks at him for a long time, and there is sadness in his eyes. “I’ll arrange for a meeting,” he says finally.

Stiles just nods in reply.

* * *

 

When the Hales arrive, the entire village is buzzing with worry. Stiles has contemplated on running several times, but he knows that will likely just cost his dad his head.

They are a powerful looking bunch, and Talia, their chief, is tall and proud. Behind her is a man Stiles assumes is her husband, and behind him, someone who can only be their son. His jaw is hard-set and his eyes suspicious, but beneath his sour exterior, Stiles finds him rather beautiful.

They greet awkwardly. Talia, her husband and Stiles’ dad seem to get along perfectly, but then there’s Derek. His betrothed’s name is Derek. And he doesn’t want to talk to Stiles, no matter how hard Stiles tries to be polite and respectful, which is something he rarely bothers with otherwise. Derek just gives him a flat look, whenever Stiles tries to tell a joke, and it comes to a point where Stiles has to ask Talia if Derek is, perhaps, deaf.

In hindsight, that was a bad idea, because that only results in Talia telling Derek off for being impolite and Derek to walk out of there.

"Uh," Stiles says awkwardly. "Should I…go after him, or?"

Talia just shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Stiles. We did our best with Derek, but he’s stubborn. He’ll need some time.”

They leave the next day, and the only thing Derek does is bow his goodbyes.

* * *

 

The next time he sees Derek it’s their wedding day. Which is ridiculous, because Stiles doesn’t even know what Derek sounds like. He’s nervous, too. Since the Hales are more wealthy than his village (and his dad), he’s going to have to go with them. In return, they will join forces and provide the village with protection and food.

His hands shake when he grasps Derek’s to get them tied together with that thin, soft rope they use in wedding ceremonies. He’s feeling a bit faint. Maybe because so many are watching, and maybe because his dad still has sadness in his eyes.

Stiles looks up at Derek, meaning for it to be brief, but Derek’s eyes are fixed upon him. And Stiles can’t look away.

He’s shaking for another reason, slightly unsteady on his feet from too much mead, when they make their way to their temporary longhouse. Tomorrow he’s going with the Hales, but he still has a wedding night to survive. He’s fumbling with the knots and ties to his clothing, as he watches Derek stalk towards the bed. Stiles has never even kissed anyone, and Derek looks like one of those men who has a woman in every village he travels through.

"Don’t worry," Derek bites out, surprising Stiles with speaking at all. "I won’t touch you."

Stiles’ hands fall from his clothes, and he looks at Derek, stunned. “Oh,” he manages then. “Alright.”

"It’s just a political arrangement," Derek clarifies, like Stiles didn’t already know that much.

"Yes. Yeah, I know. I just thought-" He shrugs to himself, trailing off.

Derek gives him a flat look again, and Stiles feels stupid for even thinking that something would happen. He should be relieved. But all he feels is shame.

* * *

It’s difficult saying goodbye to his dad, even though he’s promised over and over again that they will see each other soon, both by his dad and Talia. He still lets his horse fall slightly behind the others when they leave, so that they won’t see him crying.

It takes a good part of the trip, before he realises that Derek and Talia are arguing about something. They are speaking in hushed voices, and Stiles is too far away to hear what they are saying, but he suspects that he doesn’t want to hear, either. There’s not doubt in his mind that they’re arguing over him.

He puts on his brave, proud face when they reach the Hale village. It’s past midnight and there aren’t that many waiting for him, which is a relief, but he doesn’t want his new people to see him as weak.

A guy, probably around Stiles’ age, grabs the reins to his horse and smiles widely when Stiles slides off. His body feels sore and his legs stiff, like they don’t remember how to function properly on the ground anymore.

“Hey,” the guy says. “I’m Scott. I’m sorry that you had to marry that asshole.”

And Stiles just knows that he has found a new friend.

“Me too,” he replies quietly, lowering his voice to make sure that no one else will hear. “I’m Stiles.”

“I know.” Scott grins. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He straightens suddenly, face growing serious and his eyes flicker to the stable door.

Stiles doesn’t get why, at first, because there is only them, but a few moments later, Derek strides through the doors. He looks irritated. Stiles thinks that it must be his default expression, or he’s just constantly in a state where he wants to strangle people.

“Come on. I’m going to show you your home,” he mutters gruffly.

Stiles looks at Scott quickly, who rolls his eyes, but nods for Stiles to go. “Thanks for the help,” Stiles says quickly, before he leaves. Scott just smiles in reply.

Derek walks so fast that Stiles has to almost jog behind him to keep up. He feels ridiculous and wonders what the rest of the village is thinking now. The longhouse Derek takes him to is rather beautiful, and a lot more luxurious than his dad’s home. Stiles might have been happy if he wasn’t forced to share it all with Derek and leave his dad behind, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“There’s the bed.” Derek’s tone is clipped, irritated, and he points towards the bed. There are several fireplaces in the house, and one is placed close to the bed. It isn’t lit, but Stiles is glad that it’s there, because he has a tendency to get cold, and especially at night.

“I could make out that much myself, thank you.” If Derek isn’t going to be nice, Stiles isn’t either.

Derek glares at him. “You should go to bed. You’re tired.”

Stiles shrugs, thinking that it’s probably a good idea, but then he notices that Derek isn’t taking off his clothes, but rather walks back towards the door like he’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Out. I won’t be back before you’re already asleep.”

Stiles watches him leave.

He manages to get the fireplaces going, spreading soft glow and warmth in there, and it doesn’t feel like his toes are going to fall off when he rids himself of his clothing and slips beneath the blankets. The bed is big, made for two, and he feels strange curling on just one side of it.

He doesn’t fall asleep before Derek gets back, and the fires have almost died out when Derek re-enters the house. Stiles opens his eyes slightly, and Derek’s bare torso is sweaty, shining in the faint glow from the smouldering wood in the fireplace. Stiles feels like his heart is going to stop for a second, and then it starts thudding so loudly that he can hear it in his ears. Derek is only wearing pants, loosely tied together, like he’s just been making sure that they will stay up on his way back here. So obviously Stiles was right, when he thought that Derek has a woman in every city.

Derek pauses to look at him, like he, too, has heard Stiles’ rapid heartbeat. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.” And he sounds almost apologetic, like he feels bad for letting Stiles see that he’s sleeping with other people.

He turns over on his side, squeezes his eyes shut. “Well, I was,” he mumbles, voice raspy and dry. His throat feels thick.

Derek gets the fires going, before he goes to bed and Stiles wishes that Derek had stayed with whomever he was with. The bed feels a bit crowded, but Stiles doesn’t say anything. Derek is running hot, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about freezing when the fires die out.

* * *

 

He doesn’t see Derek much the next few weeks. He’s usually gone when Stiles wakes up, and he comes home when Stiles has already gone to bed. He’s always haphazardly dressed, sweat drying on his body and his hair a mess, when he walks through the door at night. Stiles doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts. Not even to himself.

He knows that this is just a political arrangement. He knew from the beginning. Maybe he should be grateful that Derek has someone else to tend to his needs. But he isn’t.

He spends a lot of his time with Scott. He’s kind and doesn’t seem to mind that Stiles isn’t from around here. Maybe he tells Scott about his situation, about Derek going to someone else’s bed. It feels better when he’s told someone.

Talia talks to him often, asking him how he’s doing and if there is anything he’s missing. Stiles doesn’t tell her how he feels about having a husband who is spending time in other people’s beds, or how much he’s missing his dad. He tells her that he’s fine. That he likes it here. That way he knows that his dad and friends at home are safe.

Derek doesn’t say much, either. Stiles thinks that they have exchanged all of five sentences with each other over the past few weeks. He thinks that he should be glad. He isn’t.

Another few weeks later, Derek and some of his men, Scott included, ride to Stiles’ dad’s village, where a gang of bandits has been seen lurking around. Talia suspects that they are assassins, rather than thieves, and Stiles wants to go with Derek. He wants to make sure that his dad is safe. Alive.

“You need to stay here,” Derek says, as he mounts his horse. He looks calm, cold almost.

Stiles shakes his head fiercely, trying to find words, but Derek reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “You need to stay here,” he repeats firmly.

Stiles grabs onto his wrist with both hands, squeezing tightly. “Please, keep him safe. My dad, keep him safe.”

Something flickers in Derek’s eyes and he cups Stiles’ face for a moment, brushing his thumb over Stiles’ cheek. Then he nods – it looks like a promise – and then they are on their way, disappearing over the hills. Scott waves when he passes, and Stiles feels slightly better. From what he’s heard, they are both more than capable to handle themselves in a fight.

Stiles curls around himself in bed later that night. It feels strange knowing that Derek won’t join him in a couple of hours. Even though it wounded Stiles’ pride every time he came back sweaty and messy, somewhere along the way, he got used to Derek being there, at least.

He starts to worry when three days have passed and no one has come back. Talia looks unfazed, but Stiles suspects that it’s a part of her job. She’s supposed to keep the village together, united.

He doesn’t ask her about it until a week has passed, and they still haven’t come back.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Stiles,” she says calmly. “They are probably staying a few extra days to make sure that your father and his village are safe.”

Stiles isn’t sure if he’s supposed to believe her, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. It takes a long time for him to fall asleep that night, and he misses the way the bed dips under Derek’s weight when he gets in. He tells himself that he misses Scott more. Scott is the closest friend he has here, and it’s lonely without him, but he still finds himself missing Derek the most. He’s so angry at himself for feeling this way, because it will only end up with him getting hurt.

He curls himself around Derek’s pillow and manages to fall asleep, finally. A rustling noise a few hours later wakes him. He blinks slowly, as he tries to register the sound, but as soon as he realises that someone is in the house, he’s fully awake in a second. His heart starts thumping and his throat feels tight, suddenly.

He’s just about to turn over and look at the intruder, when the movements pause.

“Don’t worry. It’s just me.”

Stiles knows that voice. He sits up so quickly that his head starts spinning, his heart beating fast for a different reason now. And yes, there’s Derek, standing just in front of the fireplace with a log in his hand. He places it carefully, balancing on the other logs, and looks over at Stiles.

“You’re home,” Stiles rasps, his voice dry from sleep. “I was worried.”

Apparently, his brain is a bit sleepy still.

There is something that resembles a smile on Derek’s lips for a moment, and he pads over to the bed barefoot. He sits down at Stiles’ feet, and close up like this, Stiles thinks he looks tired.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Stiles scoots closer, shivering from the cold air as the blankets fall off him.

“Nothing is wrong,” Derek assures him. “I’m just tired from travelling.”

“How’s my dad?” Stiles asks, and he reaches out to touch Derek’s hand. It surprises him a little when Derek doesn’t pull his hand away.

“He’s good. Mother was right, they were assassins, but we got there in time. No one got hurt. Well, except for them.”

“Good.”

“Scott told me something,” Derek says suddenly and Stiles knows what it’s about without having to look up at his face.

“Oh.”

“He cornered me. Asked me what the hell I was doing. I didn’t get what he was talking about.” Derek clears his throat awkwardly, and Stiles frowns up at him.

“How can you not know? I know. I just have to see what you look like whenever you come home at night. I’m not stupid.” Stiles doesn’t care that it’s obvious how bothered he is by this. By Derek sleeping with other people.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs. “It’s not what you think. I have to tell you something, and I need you not to freak out. Okay?”

“Someone else is expecting your child?” Stiles guesses.

Derek blinks, then frowns. “No.” He sighs again, more heavily this time. “I’m not sleeping with other people.”

Stiles snorts loudly.

“I’m not!” Derek protests.

“So what’s the reason to why you come home sweaty and barely dressed at night, then?”

“Exercise,” Derek says simply.

Stiles is quiet for a moment, considering this. He guesses that it makes some kind of sense, but it’s still confusing. Something just doesn’t add up. Derek is sitting there, looking more open than ever before, and he wants to tell Stiles something.

“Okay, so what is it?”

“You’re not going to guess?” Derek asks, sounding surprised. He eyes Stiles from the side, like he isn’t sure if Stiles is serious or not.

“I just did. According to you, someone else is not expecting your baby and you’re not sleeping with other people. Those were my guesses.”

Derek is silent for a long time. “Don’t you know the rumours about us?”

Everyone knows those rumours. The ones about the Hales not being entirely human, the way they always seem to leave fights unscratched, but somehow still covered in blood that’s not only from their dead enemies. But they are just that – rumours. “Of course I do.”

Stiles is met by a long, silent look.

“But they are only rumours, right?” he says jokingly at last. It feels like he has to.

“Not exactly.”

Stiles has no idea what to say to that.

“There’s a legend. I’m sure you have heard of it, the one about the wolf coated men?”

The story has been told for as long as Stiles can remember. Two men coating themselves in wolf hides which then turned them into wolves. “Yes,” he says quietly.

“It’s not only a child’s story,” Derek replies softly. “It’s also my family’s heritage.”

“You’re cursed?” Stiles whispers. He can’t find it in him to be afraid. There have been plenty of opportunities for Derek to kill him long before this moment. They have been alone every night.

“Sometimes.” Derek nods. “Sometimes it’s also a blessing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Does this…this state count for everyone in this village?”

“More, or less. Some are born human, but they are few and they usually ask to be changed when they are old enough to decide for themselves.” Derek hesitates. “I wanted to tell you. My mother advised me not to. It felt unfair towards you, having you marry someone without knowing who they really are. That’s why I’ve been keeping to myself. The last thing I want is to sleep with you and then see you regret it when you find out who I am.”

Stiles’ head is spinning. It makes sense in an odd way – how Derek has seemed to hear his heartbeat and somehow known that he was awake almost every time he has come home late at night. How his body is unscarred, despite the fact that he has been through more fights than Stiles’ has fingers. Scott has to be one of them, too, with the way he heard Derek approaching long before he entered the stables that day. Neither of them have ever made any attempt to hurt him. Nor has anyone else. Stiles knows that he should be afraid, but he isn’t. Maybe this is the reason to why Derek was arguing with Talia during their travel here. It all makes sense now.

“I understand if you want some time alone,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles hasn’t realised how quiet he has been. “No, I’ve been alone for a week already.”

Derek gives him a quick smile. Stiles had no idea his face could do friendly things like that.

“I guess I knew somehow, subconsciously.”

“I expected you to be running by now.”

Stiles shrugs. “But I’m not really anything you expected to begin with, am I?”

Derek ducks his head, and Stiles thinks he’s smiling. “I guess not.” He reaches out to touch Stiles then, slowly, as if to give him time to pull away. Stiles has no plan on ever pulling away. Derek’s hand feels heavy on his hip, and wider than his own. The warmths burns into his skin, and he kisses back willingly when Derek’s lips find his.

“I think tonight would be a good time to consummate our marriage,” Stiles breathes as the break apart. Derek only hums against his lips as he moves back in. He has so many questions, but they can wait. They have time for that.

fin


	7. The Failed Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles fails his first test ever in college, and Derek wants to make it all better

Stiles stares down at the result again. Nope, it still says that he failed. It can’t be right. Sure, the test didn’t feel all that great when he handed it in, because Derek distracted him from studying properly, but it didn’t feel like he was going to _fail_.

He looks away, buries the papers in his bag and hurries home. He was supposed to go to a bar with some of his new friends from this class, but he doesn’t feel like it now. He doesn’t have anything to _celebrate_.

Derek is home when he walks through the door, and Stiles swears internally.

"Hey." Derek smiles, looking up from the couch when Stiles walks through the door. He’s a grad student, he has a goddamn _office_ , but he’s still there in the very place where Stiles had planned to crash and burn and maybe drown his sorrows in cheap whiskey. Derek’s smile falters when he sees Stiles’ face.

"What’s wrong?" he asks.

Stiles digs through his bag, half-realising how stupid he must look, aggressively going through the mess of old notes, broken pencils and wraps from already eaten candy bars, and then he tosses the crumpled test on the coffee table.

Derek looks down on it for a moment, and blinks like he can’t really get it either. When he looks up again, his eyes are very soft. Stiles wants to cry like a petulant baby.

"You’re going to nail it next time," Derek says quietly, and he reaches out after Stiles, who shuffles a couple of steps closer so that Derek can grab his arm and pull him down on the couch.

"I suck," Stiles sighs, leaning his head back against the couch and sinks down further against the cushions.

"No," Derek assures him, pulls him closer and squeezes hard, like he’s trying to push the bad feelings out of Stiles’ body. It’s working a little bit.   
"You’re really smart. It just takes time to get a grasp on how to write these things. I failed my first test, too."

"No, you didn’t," Stiles mutters. He knows that Derek has aced everything. _Everything_. Maybe they’ll have to break up, now.

"You don’t know that," Derek mumbles against his ear, and his voice has dropped slightly.

Stiles shudders internally. He knows what that means. “Are you trying to make me feel better?” he asks, _just_ managing to keep himself from gasping when Derek’s lips slide down his neck.

"Yes, is it working?" Derek’s hand is slowly undoing his pants.

Stiles decides that he has much better things to think about than that goddamn test. “Yeah. Totally. Don’t stop.”

Derek doesn’t.


	8. Bubble Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles loves bubble tea, but Derek doesn't get the appeal.

> _brykn asked: "Okay, so this is probably the dorkiest drabble prompt ever, but I’d really like to see a little something where Stiles LOVES Bubble Tea and he wants to take Derek out to get some. Derek just doesn’t get the appeal, but he goes anyways and maybe he ends up liking it or just pretending to like it for Stiles."_

They’re in a small café that Stiles has chosen and Derek has the weirdest drink in his hand. Stiles says that it’s called _bubble tea_ and that it’s a gift from the gods.

Derek isn’t so sure he agrees.

It’s too sweet, almost like he can feel the cavities appear for every sip he takes. Stiles looks blissed out and Derek doesn’t want to be rude on their first date, so he keeps sipping and hopes that Stiles won’t notice how he tries his best not to grimace.

It took almost a year for Derek to work up the courage to ask Stiles out on a date. He had been pining almost every day in the library for a _year_ , and when he had finally asked, Stiles had grinned and said: ”Sweet! I’ve waited for this since Halloween.”

Derek didn’t think about asking why Stiles hadn’t asked first, if that was the case.

"It’s good, right?" Stiles says, eyes bright and he barely lets go of the straw before he’s back, sucking hard to get one of those disgusting beads into his mouth.

Derek’s mind goes painfully blank for almost five seconds and that’s enough time for Stiles to look up, wondering why Derek isn’t answering, and the smirk spreading over his lips says that it must be obvious on Derek’s face.

"It’s okay," Derek says, his voice strangely hoarse. "It’s a bit too sweet for my taste."

"Hm," Stiles finishes the last of his _bubble tea_ (who the fuck even came up with that name?! It sounds ridiculous), slurping loudly, until the cup is empty. His mouth on that straw, the way his cheeks hollow when he sucks, it’s way too obscene not to be intentional, Derek thinks. When he’s done, his gaze flickers to Derek’s cup. “Want me to finish that for you?”

Derek fidgets a bit in his chair, tries to find a more comfortable position when he pushes the drink over to Stiles and the show just starts all over again.

He might need to take Stiles back on their next date.


	9. I don't even know what to call this horrid thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles putting little bows in Derek's chest hair (completely blaming Tess for this one, JFC)

So, Stiles might be a bit drunk. Okay, _a lot_ drunk, but it doesn’t matter. He’s all cozy and warm, in Derek’s bed with sleeping Derek and… _Derek has chest hair_.

Stiles blinks, and rises up on his elbow, just slightly unsteady as he leans closer to take a good look. No, that’s _definitely_ chest hair. He reaches out, pets it a little, stares.

Thank god Derek is asleep, because this is an awkward reason for getting a boner.

He looks over to the nightstand where Sarah, Scott’s and Allison’s daughter has forgotten her ‘hair stuff’ to her My Little Ponies, and a great idea strucks him like a lightning.

Three hours later, he smiles down at his creation, perhaps a bit more sober now, but Derek is still sleeping. And his chest hair is neatly arranged with pink and purple bows.

Stiles curles himself around Derek’s body and doesn’t wake up until he hears a loud “ _What the fuck?!”_ The next morning.


	10. The Hobbit and the Dwarf Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is a hobbit and Derek is a dwarf prince.

> jeuji asked: "I just really need a Sterek Hobbit au, were Derek is the surly Dwarf prince, and Stiles is the 'I'm taking none of your shit' hobbit."

"You’re not welcome here," Derek says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, _your majesty_ , but I was invited by your mother.”

"Well, she’s not here, is she? Leave." Derek makes swatting gestures with his hand, like he’s trying to get rid of a fly.

Stiles isn’t _that_ small.

"Nah, I think I’ll camp out until she gets back." He sits down on the nearest comfortable-looking piece of furniture (which just happens to be Derek’s bed) and yawns.

"You’re in my bed chamber."

"Wow, I’m so flattered. Didn’t think you saw me this way."

Derek makes an irritated sound. Stiles feels pleased.

"I _said_ : Get. Out.”

"Dude, I was _invited_ , by your mother. She’d have your head if she knew that you threw me out.”

"I’d rather have her take my head than see your dirty feet spoil my sheets."

Stiles pouts and looks down at his feet. “But they’re a little bit cute?”


	11. The Legendary Stiles Stilinski (...or something)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is popular at college and Derek is pretty much a nobody who has been drooling over him since day one. Apparently Stiles hasn't been as oblivious to this as Derek assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with this prompt

> panene asked: "If you are still taking prompts I'd love to read one where instead of shy and insecure Stiles decides Derek is totally worth loving and needs to be swept off his feet, who better than Stiles to take care of the reaident sourwolf?"

Derek looks up in surprise when Stiles sinks down on the empty chair opposite of his. He’s grateful for the table between them when he sees the intense look in Stiles’ eyes.

It makes him want to squirm in his seat. Everyone on campus knows who Stiles Stilinski is. About 70 % of them, Derek included, have wet dreams about him regularly. And the rest are most likely not interested in men. Stiles is the guy who looks like a hipster-nerd with big glasses, beanies, and skinny jeans. He’s the guy who does more than well on every test, but he never seems to study, and he acts and talks like he’s entertaining at least twenty different thoughts at the same time.

Derek has been fascinated by him from day one, but it never occured to him that Stiles would have ever noticed him. Well, until now.

"What’s up?" Stiles asks, grinning in a way that makes Derek’s mouth go dry.

"Uh." Derek tries desperately to come up with something smart to say. He _is_ smart. It shouldn’t be hard! “Working on my essay.” Derek points with the flat end of his pencil to the stacks of books and papers scattered across the table.

Stiles nods thoughtfully. “You’re writing about wolves, right?”

Derek knows that his surprise must be showing, because Stiles’ eyes crinkle at the corners. “Right. Wolves.”

"Which is why your roomie has started calling you sourwolf. Apparently you’re stressing out way too much about this." Stiles leans back in his chair, tipping it slightly in a way that makes him look like a douchebag.

Derek looks around briefly, searching for Isaac in the library, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “I just want it to be good,” he explains defensively.

"Sure, I get it." Stiles holds up his hands, like he understands completely. "But maybe you should take a break or something?"

"And do what." Derek doesn’t even put it like a question. He’s not big on partying. Truth be told, he’s a bit awkward around too many people.

Stiles pushes a couple of movie tickets across the table. They are for that new movie with Justin Timberlake and Ben Affleck. “I don’t know if it’s any good, but I figured if it’s boring we can always make out in the back row.” Stiles shrugs.

Derek’s brain is malfunctioning. He wants to say no, simply because Stiles doesn’t exactly have a hard time getting a date and Derek _doesn’t_ date. He doesn’t want to be another conquest. But it’s _Stiles_ , and Derek has been pining over him forever.

"I don’t know," he says finally.

Stiles face falls slightly. “Aw, why?”

Derek shrugs, he feels a bit silly. “I’m sure someone else wants to go with you.”

"Probably," Stiles agrees. "I don’t really care, though, because I want to go with you."

Derek tries to go back to his exam again, but Stiles moves his chair closer, distracting him. 

"I might have misinterpreted things, but I totally thought we were doing the mutual pining thing. You know, for the last six months at least."

He speaks lower now, like he doesn’t want anyone but Derek to hear. Or maybe the librarian gave him the evil eye.

Derek feels the flush creep up his neck. He thought he was being subtle. “Do you always use that line?” he manages at last. He’s torn. On one hand, he very much wants to go on a date with _Stiles_. On the other: he’s pretty sure that he’ll get two, at most, and then Stiles is off to the next one in line.

Stiles pouts. “I thought you were a bit more critical to rumours than that.” Then he sighs, like he’s giving in. “Yeah, I tend to sleep around a bit, but I don’t date unless I’m interested.”

"Wow, you really know how to sell it," Derek snorts.

Stiles grins. “See, this is why I think we’ll be great at dating each other.”

Derek’s belly swoops.

When Stiles pushes the movie tickets towards him again, he accepts one. Oh well, even if he only gets one date, it’s still a date with Stiles Stilinski. Plus, he really wants to see the movie.

He ends up getting fourteen dates and then Stiles changes their facebook status to _In a relationship._ Derek breaks his record in received likes with about 300 %.


	12. Out Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Out Cold" was the only instruction I got

> Anonymous asked: "Sterek Number 84?????" (which is "out cold" on the list)

"Stiles," Derek sighs and looks down at Stiles, lying half-naked on his bed, so drunk that he has fallen asleep. At least he managed to get rid of his clothes, because they’re all in a heap on Derek’s bedroom floor, and he’s only wearing his boxer briefs.

Derek nudges him lightly, but Stiles only snores in response.

"How is he?" Scott asks, sticking his head through the open door. He looks like he’s about to leave.

"Out cold," Derek mutters. "Not really good at handling alcohol, it seems."

Scott groans. “Can he stay with you?”

Derek rolls his eyes and his brain is screaming in protest. “Why?”

"Because he’ll be safe. Because you’ll notice if he wakes up, or pukes in his sleep. You’ll keep him safe."

Derek’s brain stops screaming abruptly and it’s like Scott’s words have awoken the instinct to protect in him. “Fine.”

Scott beams and then he’s out the door with Allison. Derek nudges Stiles one more time, but he only gets another snore in reply.

He doesn’t sleep that night. Instead he tucks Stiles in, checking that he isn’t too hot or too cold. And then he sits on the chair in the corner of his bedroom, making sure that Stiles won’t suffocate on his own vomit, or something else. He doesn’t relax until Stiles gets up, probably more asleep than awake, to go to the bathroom without even noticing Derek sitting there. He pauses when he walks back in the room, though, and frowns at Derek. Then, without saying anything, he grabs Derek’s sleeve and tugs him towards the bed with him.


	13. A Moonlight Rendezvous (I'm sorry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sterek in the meeting in the woods with moonlight

> rizuno asked: "FUCK ME SIDEWAYS YES YES YES ... that's not the prompt. STEREK - a moonlight rendezvous (if you are so inclined IF YOU NEED MORE SPECIFICY I CAN GO LIKE A BILLION DIFFERENT WAYS WITH THIS) oooo also VIKING FIC just a reminder from your friendly neighborhood Rizuno :D"
> 
> Additional information: “Sterek in the meeting in the woods with moonlight”

Stiles feels ridiculous, where he’s trampling through the woods, with what’s left of today’s rain is seeping through his vans. Just because someone left a note in his psychology book asking him to meet them here. At 2 AM. Way off from campus.

Stiles doesn’t get why it hasn’t hit him until now that it’s probably a serial killer.

He groans, swearing under his breath as he steps into a hole by mistake and his leg is freaking soaked to the knee. It’s a full moon, too. If it isn’t a serial killer, he’s going to get eaten by a werewolf.

After a while, he gets worried for real. It’s when he realises that he’s lost and has no idea how to get to the spot the note told him to go to, or how to get out of the forest at all. He brought the note with him as well, so when he’s abducted and killed, no one will know where to start looking. How is he even raised by a Sheriff? _Honestly_.

His legs are tired and he’s starting to get really cold, when he slumps down on a fallen tree trunk. If he sits here until the sun goes up, he can probably find his way back out. His phone is no use, the battery died even before he went in here. Still, he tries the power button, knowing full well that there’s no use.

Accepting his fate is easy, until the forest starts rustling around him. He is sure that he can hear steps, heavy boots on damp moss and dirt. Stiles looks around desperately for somewhere to hide, because no matter if it’s the serial killer or the werewolf, he at least wants to try and get away. Just as he is about to dive behind a few bushes, a shadow steps out of the trees in front of him. And then, when it isn’t a shadow anymore, but the face of a real person bathing in moonlight, Stiles whimpers.

Yep, definitely serial killer.

The guy is built like a football player and has a look of doom on his face, with thick eyebrows drawn together, and a mess of black hair on his head. His eyes look inhumanly pale in the moonlight.

Maybe werewolf serial killer.

“What are you doing?” The guy asks. Well, it sounds more like he is accusing Stiles of something.

“Walking around, obviously,” Stiles mutters.

“Looks more like sitting to me.” The guy nods towards the tree trunk like Stiles would have missed that he was sitting on something, if it hadn’t been pointed out to him just now. He doesn’t even bother with replying.

“You lost?”

“Nah, totally know my way around. Just having a little picnic.”

The guy rolls his eyes. “Come on. I’ll get you out of here.”

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”

Stiles goes with him anyway, because why not? His only options are: getting killed in the woods by either a serial killer, or a werewolf, or a psychotic deer. _Or_ he can go with said serial killer and hope that he _isn’t_ a serial killer, and maybe find his way out. It’s really not that tough of a choice.

Turns out the guy isn’t a serial killer. His name is Derek and he attends Stiles’ college, too. He’s an a grad student and he takes Stiles to his apartment, because it’s closer and there are no torture equipment visible, so Stiles assumes that he’s safe.

“So what were you really doing in the woods?” Derek asks and rummages around in his closet for something. Hopefully not a gun.

“Got this note in a book asking me to meet someone out there.” Stiles shrugs.

“Who?”

“I don’t know! That’s the thing. Like a blind date-thing.”

“Sounds more like a stupid thing to me,” Derek mutters under his breath, and yeah, he obviously didn’t take Charm 101, but his exterior makes up for it.

“What were _you_ doing in the woods?” Stiles asks, suspicious now.

“I was getting samples for an experiment.”

“Like what, young, innocent people?”

Derek glares at him. “I’m not a serial killer, will you just drop it?”

“That’s _exactly_ what a ser–” Stiles begins, but then Derek throws something in his face, and it isn’t poison. It’s soft and warm and smells like aloe vera detergent. When he has wrestled it off, he realises that he’s holding a t-shirt and a pair of sweats in his hands.

“You look like you’re freezing,” Derek mutters, but Stiles thinks the tips of his ears are bit pinker than they were a second ago. “I’ll make hot chocolate while you change. You can take a shower if you want.”

Stiles stares at him.

“What? You would look stupid if your toes fell off.” Derek shrugs like he doesn’t care, but he ducks out of the bedroom quickly and disappears into what Stiles assumes is a kitchen, because he hears slamming of cabinet doors and pans bumping against each other.

He wiggles his toes experimentally. He can’t feel them a 100% so a shower would probably be a good thing. There are no murder weapons in Derek’s bathroom, either, and there are owls on the shower curtain. Stiles grabs the nearest towel when he’s done, stepping out of the misty cloud and onto the cold tiles reluctantly, but at least he has hot chocolate to look forward to. The clothes are a little too big on him, which isn’t a surprise. Derek is a freaking hulk.

There’s a mug waiting for him when he gets out, and Derek is sitting awkwardly on the kitchen counter.

“Is there poison in this?” Stiles asks, as he grabs the mug, clutching it in his hands. It burns his palms a bit.

Derek sighs loudly. “Yes, s _o much_ poison. Nothing but poison.”

“Okay, fine, I get it,” Stiles mumbles and downs the contents of the mug quickly, wincing as it burns its way all the way down his throat. It tastes _awesome_. Derek is officially the master of making hot chocolate. This stuff shouldn’t be legal.

“So how do I get to my place from here?” Stiles asks as he puts the mug down on the counter, next to Derek’s thigh. It’s a nice thigh. Objectively speaking.

Derek draws him a freaking map on a napkin. Who the hell has napkins nowadays?

It works, though. Stiles gets home safe and sound, and he’s still wearing Derek’s clothes. He falls asleep in them (more like blacks out from exhaustion) curled under the blankets in his bed. He’s pretty sure that the chocolate burned a hole through his stomach and is now floating around in his entire chest, because it really does feel like it.

* * *

 

Two days later, Erica finds him in the library.

“So?” she demands.

“You want my notes again?” Stiles asks, not bothering to look up more than once to make sure it’s really her. “It’s gonna cost you.”

She sighs loudly, impatiently. “Did you meet him?”

“Who? Jesus? No, but I probably will after finals.”

“ _Derek_. Did you meet him?”

Stiles might just have gotten himself a whiplash from the way his head snaps up at her words. “How did you know?”

“I’m a genius. I knew it would work. Laura didn’t believe me.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles’ heart is beating weirdly, and his brain is putting together pieces here that Stiles doesn’t _want_ together, because this is just _ugh_.

“Laura’s brother has been pining over you for weeks, but refused to do anything about it, so we figured that we’d nudge you guys along a bit. So, since I know how desperate you are, I put a note in your book to make sure you were in the woods when Laura knew Derek would be out getting his samples.” She winks at him, like it’s no big thing.

“Are you _insane?_ ” Stiles whisper-yells, because the librarian has already given him the evil eye twice in an hour. “I got lost and almost died!” A slight exaggeration maybe, but not by _much_.

“Well, you didn’t,” she points out. “So when’s the date?”

“There’s no date. We had hot chocolate and I went home to sleep, because it was like four AM and I was tired.”

“I guess you’re going to have to fix that, so that you didn’t _almost die_ for nothing.” Then she walks off, and Stiles glares after her, because she could at least pretend to feel bad for what happened.

He goes back to his books after that, until his back and neck hurt so much he’s sure they’re about to snap, and then he decides to grab a coffee at the café on the corner.

It is a surprise, and at the same time it isn’t, when he finds Derek there, sitting on a stool staring down in a book like he wants all the world’s kittens to die. He’s hot in daylight, too. In a henley and tight jeans. Okay, so clearly Derek is more shy than he should be, Stiles decides. So he’s going to have to do something about this.

“Hey,” he says as he walks up to Derek, who looks up from his book, clearly surprised.

“Hi.”

“Thanks for saving my toes.” Stiles smiles as Derek rolls his eyes. “I was wondering if I could take you out on a date to express my gratitude.”

Derek looks hesitant.

“And my painful attraction to you, because yeah, that’s a thing.”

Derek’s expressions soften somewhat at that. “Alright, but we stay inside.”

fin


	14. The Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek drinks a sort of potion which is meant to make you say everything that you would like to but don't (so you can't lie either but you can't stay silent) and he didn't mean to do that and it's somehow Stiles' fault if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with this

> Anonymous asked: Derek drinks a sort of potion which is meant to make you say everything that you would like to but don't (so you can't lie either but you can't stay silent) and he didn't mean to do that (was it another potion or just pumpkin juice, as you wish) and it's somehow Stiles' fault if he did and then Stiles is like "Please, don't kill me for this" and Derek is all "I'd rather kiss(or worse x) ) you""

Stiles stares at the bottle in Derek’s hand. He’s sure that the content was supposed to be red, but this one is definitely closer to blue. Which must be a bad sign, because the veritas potion Stiles got from Deaton looked scarily similar to the liquid Derek’s now pouring down his throat.

_Aw, crap._

“Derek, I don’t–” but it’s already too late. The last drop of blue is gently rolling out of the flask and down Derek’s tongue.

Stiles wishes very much that Scott would be here, to…uh, save Stiles ass now that he has to confess his mistake.

Derek looks weird. His body is strangely rigid, even more so than usual, and his pupils are dilated to a point where his irises are merely thin shards of hazel and barely visible from where Stiles is standing.  

“Derek? You okay there, buddy?” Stiles tries to keep his tone light, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Derek can hear the frantic beating of his heart. He’s terrified. The veritas potion, something Stiles was planning on spiking a certain warlock’s drink with come Friday, blurs inhibitions, making the drinker more keen on acting out their impulses. Stiles is pretty sure Derek still wants to kill him on some level, so how he’s going to survive the night is a mystery.

Derek shakes his head, like he’s trying to get water out of his ears, and then his gaze focuses on Stiles. His mouth opens a fraction, and yes, Stiles is pretty sure he can see fangs dropping. Why is this his life again?

“Please, don’t kill me for this,” he says quickly, holding up his hands, surrendering. “You were supposed to get the antidote for your wolf flu–” It’s not really wolf flu. It’s more of a magical condition, from a curse by previously mentioned warlock, that makes Derek unable to shift fully. Instead he’s stuck in a weird in-between state, where he can extend fangs and claws, but there are no side-burns or lack of eyebrows. “–but I’m pretty sure I accidentally gave you the veritas potion. Oops. Bad things happen to good people, right? Everyone makes mistakes–”

Stiles makes an embarrassing sound, close to the one his grandmother makes when there’s a mouse in the kitchen, when Derek takes a step closer. He doesn’t look like he’s been listening to a single word Stiles has said. Instead his head is tipped slightly to the side, eyes set somewhere below Stiles’ jaw, and he looks distinctly animalistic. Stiles is pretty sure it’s not a good sign.

He scrambles backwards, as Derek stalks closer. Because it’s not freaking _walking_. Stiles is pretty sure he’s the prey here.

“It was an honest mistake!” he tries, helplessly digging his nails into the wall behind him, back pressed against it. “Please, don’t kill me.”

Derek is two steps away now. Stiles wonders why he hasn’t planned his funeral already. No one will know that he wants everyone to wear magenta now.

“I’d rather just kiss you,” Derek says suddenly and Stiles’ brain screeches to a halt.

“You– _what_?”

“I’d rather just kiss you,” Derek says again, closing the distance between them, and his hands are on Stiles’ face. Claws nicking the skin on his cheeks. It doesn’t hurt, but Derek makes a pained, apologetic sound when he sees it, retracting his claws immediately and – _starts licking Stiles’ face_.

“Dude!” Stiles protests, pushing at Derek’s chest. Yes, _wow_ , firm. “Stop! You’re drugged.”

Derek pulls back, looking devastated. “Sorry.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes. I do. Exactly what I want to.”

Stiles shakes his head violently. “If you don’t kill me now, you’re definitely going to kill me tomorrow when this is all out of your system and you realise that you have given me enough material to mock you for the rest of your life.”

Derek presses his face against Stiles’ throat, inhaling deeply. “Don’t care. Needed to get it out. Can I kiss you?”

Stiles pushes him away again. “No, bad Derek. Go to bed, sleep. Now.”

Derek looks devastated again, but he does as he’s told. Which is a relief. Stiles tries calling Scott, but he only gets voice mail. Crap. He follows Derek upstairs, where he has now moved his bed and made a real bedroom for himself, once he has found the right potion in Derek’s fridge. The wolf flu still needs to be treated.

Derek is in bed, seemingly undressed, and he looks like he’s disappointed with everything in life.

“Hey,” Stiles says gently. Derek just grunts in response. Stiles can see him dig his fingers, maybe claws too, into his palm as if he’s trying to control himself. “I brought you the potion you were supposed to get. Can you drink it for me, please?”

Derek sticks a hand out, without looking up, and Stiles is quite sure that he can see red marks quickly healing on his palm. Derek downs the drink in one go, and then he holds the bottle out again, allowing Stiles to take it from him.

“So this… _kissing_ thing. Is it something you’ve wanted to for a while, or did it come with the potion?”

For a moment, it seems like Derek isn’t going to answer, but then he makes this helpless little sound. “For a while.” It sounds like the words are ripped from his throat by force, and Stiles realises just as he’s thinking this, that it’s probably the case.

“Okay,” he says dumbly. “I’m not going to ask you more questions until this is out of your system, okay? Just try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Derek cranes his head to look at him, and then he collapses back against the pillows as Stiles sits down on the chair at the other side of the room. “It will still be true tomorrow,” he mutters.

“I know,” Stiles says quietly. “I’ll bere. You know, so we can talk about it when you can choose what to say, and do, by yourself.”


	15. Nurses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a broken arm and Derek is his nurse

> Anonymous asked: "Oh my god can you please make a nurse!derek or nurse!stiles, my broken arm calls for nurturing characters to read"

 

When Stiles managed to break his arm, he wasn’t expecting this super hot nurse to be the one to take off the cast. If he had known, he would’ve picked more boner proof pants, okay? Not these threadbare sweats that he just fished up from the floor after realising that he overslept.

The nurse is a dude. A dude who’s not _that_ much older than Stiles. Totally within banging age. He looks like he could break Stiles’ arm again if he wanted to and probably with just using his pinky. The fact that he’s wearing pink scrubs makes things even worse, to be honest. Oh well, that _and_ his ridiculously soft touch. Stiles has been expecting _some_ pain, but there’s absolutely none to take Stiles’ mind off of staring for inappropriately long moments.

“So do you come here often?” Stiles’ mouth says without his brain’s permission.

The nurse looks up, eyebrows pulled together and he suddenly looks way too dangerous for his kind touch. “I work here.”

“Oh right, yeah. I’ll take that as a yes.”

There’s a heavy silence after that. One Stiles spend fighting away his blush and searching for something else to say. “Do you like your job?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.” He swings his legs a bit, but stops immediately when the nurse places a heavy hand on his knee.

“Stop moving or I’ll cut off your arm.”

“Wow, dude, I think you’d go to jail for that.”

“It would be worth it.”

Stiles clears his throat. “I guess this is a bad time to ask you out.”

The nurse looks up at him, like he can’t believe what he just heard. “What?”

“You’re kinda hot and I’m kinda hot, and I tend to break my limbs a lot so I think we’d be good at dating each other.”

The nurse stares. It’s somewhere between shock and murder.

Shrugging, Stiles flexes his fingers when the nurse lets go of his arm. Cast-free. “I take that as a no. It’s cool man. Have a great day.”

He’s halfway to the door when the nurse says: “You can pick me up at eight. I hate sushi.”

* * *

 

Stiles learns that the nurse’s name is Derek about ten hours into their date, when he finds an old envelope at the kitchen table the next morning. Oh well, better late than never.


	16. Food for Fetuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WEDDINGS. ANYTHING TO DO WITH WEDDINGS. WEDDING FOOD? ALL THE WEDDING FOOD. SMALL PLATES THAT MAKE STILES GO "THIS IS NOT ENOUGH FOOD, WHAT WAS I THINKING WHEN I ORDERED THIS?!

> java-genie asked: "WEDDINGS. ANYTHING TO DO WITH WEDDINGS. WEDDING FOOD? ALL THE WEDDING FOOD. SMALL PLATES THAT MAKE STILES GO "THIS IS NOT ENOUGH FOOD, WHAT WAS I THINKING WHEN I ORDERED THIS?!""

"What’s this?" Stiles stage whispers in Derek’s ear when the main course arrives.

"It’s the main course," Derek clarifies.

"I thought we ordered food."

"It _is_ food.”

"Maybe if you’re a fetus."

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes. “ _You_ decided the main course.”

"What was I thinking?!" Stiles downs the food in less than five minutes. "But ugh, it’s like a tiny, tiny, way too short orgasm in my mouth, though."

"What was I thinking when I said yes to marrying you?" Derek groans, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands.

"Probably about the big, big, super long orgasms I’m gonna give you tonight," Stiles grins.

Derek figures that he has a point.


End file.
